by Lana Grayson
And holding the girl captive? It eliminated the Atwood threat, but my father’s long-term solution was cruel. Still, ruining Sarah to seize her company would win the war. Other options must have existed, but we didn’t have time for the battles it’d require.
Sarah was almost twenty-one, and that made her dangerous. Her heir would secure us for generations, fortifying a legacy built of darkness, lies, and undeniable wealth. But a single mistake and she’d have the legal and moral power to rip us apart.
But I’d fix it. And I’d do it before only the ashes of success remained.
But a real plan required time. Management. Escaping the impenetrable will of my father.
Max stole the bottle and poured another glass. He preferred hard liquors, but it was unsightly for a man to drink more than a single whiskey at a business lunch. He chugged the wine instead.
“If Dad finds out what you just did, he’ll kill you,” Max warned. “What the hell possessed you to be that fucking reckless?”
“When have you ever known me to be reckless?”
“First Sarah Atwood, now this? You aren’t acting sane.”
“If I can secure enough investors to vote for a change in leadership, maybe the girl will go home. Eventually. Once this is done.”
“Eventually?” Max ground his teeth. “What the hell do you mean eventually? Just tell Dad no.”
And enrage him? He’d take his vengeance out on our prisoner, then he’d have my actions and correspondence, meetings and parties monitored and scrutinized by his own private investigators and personal associates.
No. We had one option, and I pitied the girl I couldn’t rescue.
Sarah Atwood would save the Bennett Corporation in two ways.
She would either bear a child we created to secure a future which joined our assets—or her presence and inevitable resistance would distract my father while I forged a partnership to depose him.
Neither future offered the girl much hope, but I’d never ask forgiveness from an Atwood, even if she was beautiful, young, and completely innocent to the sin trapping her within our beds.
My phone vibrated once more. The message was just another complication. Max read my expression and stood as I did.
“Problem?” He asked.
Slight. Nothing I couldn’t handle.
“Sarah Atwood has escaped.”
7
Sarah
The mansion was easy to escape.
The estate? Not so much.
The Bennetts prided themselves on extravagance, independence, and privacy. Their home wasn’t just a decadent manor comprised of dozens of rooms, wings, and glamour. They owned nearly as much land as us. But instead of planting crops or tending animals, they wasted good, fertile soil on meticulously crafted gardens with sculptures of dark creatures, aggressively coiling roses, and an endless path which stretched beyond the courtyard and into an overgrown forest of shadows and menace.
The Bennetts lived in the wilderness by choice, and they were rich enough to buy time. A car took too long to deliver them to San Jose. They installed a helipad on the roof of the estate.
A helicopter.
The Atwoods were wealthy, but my father wouldn’t dare let his children gallivant across the world in a helicopter. My brothers had to wait for his death before they even felt comfortable traveling in a private jet.
The jet that ultimately claimed their lives.
Maybe Dad was onto something.
I stole a bottle of water before I bolted, but I drained it in a coughing fit as soon as I passed beyond sight of the house.
I couldn’t run. A day without medication and the stress of the kidnapping scoured my lungs. The cool water helped, but nothing would combat the hardening of my chest. Even if I had my inhaler, I wasn’t getting far.
My feet crunched against broken twigs and scattered pine needles. The cobblestone path wasn’t used often, but I hoped the road beyond the private property would be populated. Tourists explored even the most scenic road routes, and the Bennetts lived just outside wine country.
Someone would find me. When they did, I would reward them for the opportunity to call the police, my stock holders, and my doctor.
My main priority was getting the hell off their property. Once I was home, I’d figure out how best to torch that prison to ash.
I coughed. The path blurred as the dry wheeze prickled me with a headache. I groped across the road and leaned against the base of a redwood.
The redwoods teetered over their estate, and the air chilled in the shade of the trees. Redwoods and firs, oaks and scrub, ferns and stones littered the forest. The view was more exotic than the acres of corn surrounding my home, but the mid-summer pollen stuck to my throat.
I’d have to go slower.
The Bennetts had no idea I suffered from asthma. For all I cared, they’d assume I died of starvation trying to crawl my way across their endless property. Some secrets were too important to reveal.
My hike wasn’t the act of defiance I planned. My escape shifted into survival. I had to contact my doctor and fill my prescription. I fell behind on my pills, and I was already anxious without my rescue inhaler.
I wouldn’t think about it. The pollen was bad, but as long as I was walking, I’d be okay. If I was free, I’d be okay.
Those bastards thought they could trap me in the house. Maybe they hoped I’d cower in the corner waiting for my step-brothers to rape me. Maybe they figured that I’d be too terrified to fight.
One thing was certain.
They didn’t expect me pitching a chair through the dining room window to make my escape.
A Bennett could repair a window with the change in their pocket—but I’d give the Atwood fortune to watch Darius Bennett pop a vein in rage.
The rumble echoed in the distance. I pushed away from the tree as the bike thundered along the path. I cursed. My luck depended on whoever followed. Reed wouldn’t hurt me. Max would, but he wouldn’t kill me.
And Nicholas?
I missed a breath. I couldn’t fear Nicholas. I refused to give any Bennett that pleasure.
But I wasn’t comfortable around him. His golden stare shattered me and then examined every piece to determine how he could use it to his advantage. The cadence of his voice beat against my body harder than my frantic heart. His unbreakable poise rivaled my resolve.
Nicholas seared through my defenses with a reserved word and didn’t flinch when I opposed him.
I’d rather face Darius than Nicholas.
Which was why I didn’t answer the amber-eyed rider as he slowed to my side.
Whatever leathers and helmet my step-brother wore while abducting me were gone, cast aside for an imported, tailor fit suit, complete with navy blue pocket square and vest beneath the jacket. He might not have worn a cut displaying his city and club and every dastardly crime he ever committed, but the suit exposed more than he wished.
He was stylish. He was arrogant. He was ruthless enough to pursue me on a motorcycle.
I was the fox, he was the sportsman, and the twisted machine he rode the noble steed he whipped, tamed, and beat into submission. I hadn’t made it far from the house. And yet he chased. He hunted.
He watched me with a wicked amusement.
“Ms. Atwood.”
The words rolled off his lips—the crashing of thunder or the whisper of fire. Both left me chilled and hot and…flushing.
My steps slowed, but not out of respect for him. The quick pace and breathless anticipation of his chase clattered my lungs. I debated stopping to pretend to listen to his terms, or collapsing against the path, forcing him to drag me to my exquisite cell.
The bike surged forward, blocking my path. Nicholas must have anticipated I wouldn’t climb on the beast willingly. He adjusted his tie and unbuttoned his jacket before dismounting.
No man had any right to be that handsome, especially a Bennett.
His mellow gold eyes, brush of dark hair, and regal smile would charm th
e last dollar out of a collections’ box while crushing anyone that might have protested. Nicholas was built for sheer intimidation. I was small—and not just asthma tiny. My father teased that I was the runt of his litter, his little corn sprout in a bountiful harvest.
I had to look up to meet his gaze, and the effort didn’t go unnoticed. His lip curled, but I couldn’t tell if it was amusement or a challenge.
“It’s dangerous to travel this path alone, Ms. Atwood,” Nicholas warned. “You never know what’s lurking in the woods.”
“Probably the same evil inside your estate.”
“Would you rather my company or the mountain lions’ on this ridge?”
“Trick question.”
He chuckled. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Home.”
His eyebrow perked, but his voice never lost the tempered cadence. He liked this game.
“You’re far from home, Ms. Atwood.”
“Then perhaps you’d arrange for transportation to see me there safely.”
“If you would climb onto my bike, I’ll take you home.”
I looked over my shoulder, glancing toward the estate. I realized my mistake too late. I’d rather turn my back on a mountain lion than Nicholas. I deliberately searched his expression, ignoring how just his glance bound me in his stillness.
“The Bennett Estate is not my home,” I said.
“It is, for the foreseeable future.”
“You and I have far different definitions of future.”
I might have stepped away, fidgeted as I surveyed any chance to escape. Nicholas didn’t move. Didn’t shift. Didn’t break my gaze. Every instinct I fought to squirm only strengthened him. Even Darius Bennett showed a weakness with the tensing of his lip or clench of his fist when I defied him.
Nicholas was unbreakable. He held me captive with honesty as intense as violence. He breathed a callous indifference.
I had no idea how to act around him.
Screaming would give him the victory. Silence was my implied surrender. His every steady breath cracked my confidence. Slowly. Steadily. Inch by fracturing inch.
I wasn’t ready to combat whatever he planned.
“If you excuse me…” I swallowed as the words didn’t carry the edge I wished. I hid the wheeze before he realized the pause wasn’t a dare for his reaction. “Thank you for your gracious hospitality, but I must kindly decline your invitation.”
I expected an arm around my waist and a threatening rasp in my ear, but he wouldn’t defile himself with base violence.
“You’re walking.” His voice carried like shadow, but this darkness wasn’t cool. It warmed whatever it touched. Wove over my body. Bound my wrists and legs with the shackles of his amusement. “You won’t run? Not even from your captors?”
He admitted it without remorse. I didn’t turn. If he wanted to listen, he’d have to follow.
And he did.
“I don’t have to run,” I said. “It’s been over a day since the kidnapping. People will start searching for me.”
“Are you sure?”
“You aren’t untouchable, Nicholas. Even your family has limits on power. I own a billion dollar company. I’m expected to email and call and make decisions for various departments at any given time. Someone will notice I’m gone.” I swallowed the pitting fear. “My mother will notice I’m gone.”
“Your mother believes you are a guest of the estate while we conduct business.”
“Of course she does.” I didn’t stop walking, but every step shoved a dagger of betrayal deeper into my side. “Enough Vicodin and anti-depressants will convince her of anything. But she hasn’t been very useful for a few months. I haven’t had the luxury of help since my father and brothers died.”
“I admire your courage, Ms. Atwood, but the nearest public road is over five miles from here.”
Five miles.
Five miles on no medications.
Five miles weakened, exhausted, and terrified.
“Then you should be a gentleman and call a taxi.”
Nicholas laughed. “Or I have a pilot’s license. I could fly you away in the helicopter.”
He wasn’t threatened by me. It was an insult, but what could I do against him? Nicholas’s broad shoulders and muscular chest weren’t hidden beneath the suit. The style accentuated every inch of his form. While Max bulked with the strength he earned punishing and training his body, Nicholas possessed a natural power. Something I never experienced—only bluffed.
The only charity he’d offer would be hauling me to the estate on his bike, and he’d grant me the privilege of clinging to his back.
He was hard. He was cruel.
And I envied every breath he stole from me.
“Take me home.” My voice fell to a whisper. A please tempted my lips. “Why won’t you take me home?”
“Come with me,” Nicholas said. “I’ll get you something to drink. We’ll discuss this like civilized people in the comfort of a parlor instead of a stark wilderness.”
“I like the wilderness.” I spoke too quickly and showed a bit of myself I didn’t mean for him to see. I licked my lips and tried again. “I prefer the forest to the barrenness of your estate.”
“Hopefully it won’t be barren for long.”
Absolutely not. “Are you out of your mind?”
Nicholas gestured to the bike. “Ms. Atwood, it’s time to return.”
“I refuse.”
“I understand,” he said. “And so I am granting you two options. Either you come willingly, allow me to see you safely to our home, and we discuss these matters—”
“Forget it.”
“—Or I subdue you, bind your hands, and you spend your days strapped to a bed, like my father prefers.”
“I’m not afraid of your father.”
My voice trembled. Nicholas heard. His amusement threaded me into silence.
“Are you afraid of me?” He asked.
I didn’t answer. My chest hurt, and I allowed myself a pause to breathe anything but his question.
It didn’t help.
I still imagined him tying me to the bed—helpless, naked, bound for his pleasure with only mercy to restrain him.
I had no compassion for the Bennetts.
God, what sympathy would they spare for me?
But maybe Nicholas was telling the truth. Maybe he wasn’t like his father, didn’t see me as a woman to rut for whatever animalistic desires overwhelmed him.
Maybe he hadn’t imagined me more helpless than I felt now.
Maybe he didn’t want me begging.
Whimpering.
The rush of heat didn’t warm me. Whatever passed between us wasn’t a mutual lust. His dangerous hunger coveted everything chaste and virtuous within me. I could try to hide, but Nicholas would always find me. That power was something no one should have possessed. Not a friend, not an enemy, and certainly not a Bennett.
I struggled against every sweaty, vulgar, and passionate image darkening my thoughts and tore my gaze from Nicholas. My breathing eased.
He had already invaded my mind. My lungs. How soon until he took my body?
“I’ll make you a proposition,” I whispered. “If you release me, untouched, and my research is returned, I’ll forgive this insanity. We can talk about selling the company.”
Nicholas prowled closer, his steps silent against the pine needles and cobblestones. I didn’t run, but I prayed for even an ounce of his poise. I endured a calculated silence.
He planned it all.
Every soul-wracking moment, every tremble upon my skin, every hope and confidence that crashed before him. He planned it.
He captured me without touching me. He possessed me without violating me. He owned me without a word.
I should have run until my breath gasped into nothing and I collapsed in exhaustion.
Instead, I trapped myself within Nicholas Bennett’s will.
And if I wanted to survive, I'd have
to fight my every instinct to offer him complete and total obedience.
“You’re in no position to make demands.”
“Neither are you.”
His chuckle rumbled, more threatening than his bike. “I’m not afraid of you, Ms. Atwood.”
“You should be,” I said. “You’ve invited me into your home. You’ve threatened to keep me prisoner. You haven’t tied me to a bed, and I don’t think you will. It’s a mistake.”
“Is it?”
“I plan to tear the Bennetts apart. I’ll crush your estate to the ground brick-by-brick. I will have my revenge.”
His voice lowered. “But we haven’t done anything to you. Yet.”
“You’ve done enough. You ruined my family.”
“You think we killed your father.”
“I don’t think it.” I coughed but regained my control. “I know it.”
Nicholas frowned. I’d never understand his stillness. Where he waited, I tensed. While he quietly plotted, I braced to run. When he breathed, I struggled over everything betraying me—my body, my resolve, my courage.
He was stone, and I was the flooding stream pouring over any available avenue to escape.
Except I had nowhere to go.
The trees and forest, scrubs and ferns were just as dangerous as the Bennetts, despite how many years I spent studying ecology and agriculture. The trees wouldn’t protect me, the weather wouldn’t warm me, and the very plants I studied would poison me in pollen. I would wither and collapse in the dirt before I fled the shadow of the estate.
But I wasn’t about to die.
“So what will you do about this murder?” He asked.
Plenty. “I’m an opportunist. My father taught me to take whatever luck the world offered and make up the difference ourselves. I’m waiting for my chance.”
He stepped closer. I wouldn’t let him see me retreat. “How can I help?”
“Screw your help. I’ll earn my freedom, destroy your sick family, and I’ll find the evidence to prove Darius killed my father. You won’t be able to stop me.”
“You’re very confident for someone trapped in the clutches of apparent murderers.”
“It’s not confidence. I’m right. This is about justice and honor.”
